Recollection
by flameora
Summary: I'm a big fan of The Adventures of Tintin, and here's my headcannon backstory for him.


Recollection: An Adventures of Tintin fanfiction headcannon

By: Flameora

1.

I remember waking up in a hospital on a winter's day. Snow was gently falling from the sky, and as I was rubbing my head to try and relieve the pounding headache I was suffering from, I realized that I had a bandage wrapped around my head. How did that happen? I wondered. The minute the question came up, a million more were brought up, as well. What happened? Why was I here? And where was I, for that matter? I looked around at the scenery that surrounded me. Then it hit me: I was in a hospital. Well, that did explain the bandage. But the big thing that I realized was that I also didn't know who I was. Who am I? I realized with sudden great shock. The more I tried to concentrate on finding the answer, the more my mind felt like a blank slate. But when I closed my eyes to try to hopefully recall something, I suddenly heard the piercing scream of a woman, calling the name of someone. I couldn't tell what she was saying, though.

At that moment, I heard some conversing between two people in what sounded like just outside of my room. I walked over to the doorway, where I overheard one of the nurses talking to the doctors about someone's condition.

"…He doesn't seem to be from or live anywhere. I tried looking in his pockets to see if I could find an ID of some sort, but, much to my surprise, I didn't find anything. The poor kid, he looks so young. I don't imagine he's any younger than 7."

 _I'm guessing they're talking about me,_ I thought. I continued to listen to their conversation to see if I could gather any simple information about myself, such as my name or why there was a bandage on my head.

"How did you find him?" the doctor asked.  
"I found him outside the hospital, completely out cold. There was a large gash on the right side of his head, so of course, I brought him inside and patched him up as quickly as I could." The nurse replied.

"How long has he been here?"

"About two weeks, and during all that time, he was in a coma."

A small noise accidentally emerged from my throat, and both of them turned around to see me staring at them awkwardly from inside the hospital bedroom.

"Oh, hello," said the doctor warmly, "We were wondering when you would wake up. What's your name, little guy?" he crouched down beside me and playfully flicked the ginger quiff upon my head.

I sated at him blankly. "…I don't know." I managed to say with some difficulty.

"Where are your parents? They must be worried sick about you."

"I don't know." I repeated. My mouth broke out in a large grin and I said eagerly, "Do you? Where are they? Are they here?"

The doctor only frowned and he shook his head, saying, "I'm afraid I don't know, either." My smile immediately disappeared and was replaced by a frown deeper than his.

Seeing me unhappy, the doctor quickly added, "But we can take you to an orphanage. There will be very nice children all around your age, the matron will take good care of you, and lots of good food. Is that okay?"

"I guess so," I said sadly, giving a small shrug. Well, it was better than nothing, I suppose…

The doctor parked his car outside of a tall building made almost entirely out of concrete, giving it a very intimidating look. I gulped as I took his hand and walked to the front door. He knocked on the door several times before an elderly-looking woman stepped out. Her jet-black hair was up in a tight bun and the wrinkles and the lines under her eyes told us that she was in her middle ages.

"Yes?" she said. Her voice sounded very posh and official.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you, ma'am," said the doctor. "But I have a child here who has no home but needs one."

"Oh, you poor child!" she said sympathetically, picking me up into her arms. I was almost gagging from the strong odor of facial cream she was clearly wearing in abundance. "But of course I'll help this young man!" she turned to me. "What's your name, little one?"

I shrugged. " I don't know, I can't remember."

"Well, that's okay, we'll just find one you like, won't we?" She turned back to the doctor. "He'll fit right in. Nothing to worry about."

After the two waved goodbye, she closed the door behind her, then turned to me, saying, "All right, listen up, you little brat. Here's how it goes: I make the rules around here, and you follow the like the dull, stupid little sheep you are. WITHOUT QUESTION! If you do question my rules, break 'em, or basically step out of line, then this comes out!" She revealed a horse crop that she was clearly hiding behind her back the whole time, waving it harshly with every word she spoke. "Got it?"

I gulped and gave a small nod. She pointed to a staircase that was to my right, indicating where I should go. I walked up the creaky wooden stairs with a deep feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

When I opened one of the many doors lining the hallways, I was met with the sight of a group of adolescent boys who looked older than me by about five or so years. But even though they seemed to be twelve or thirteen years old, you wouldn't be able to tell right off the bat because of the toothpicks and cigarettes dangling from their mouths. Their hair was scruffy and unkempt, and every one of their eyes were cold as ice. One of them turned to look at me and gave a small chuckle. The others followed suit, and in a matter of seconds, I was being laughed at by the kids I was going to have to live with.

"Hey guys," said one of them, pointing at me, "Check out this loser! What are you doing here, you little baby?"

"Yeah, you tell 'im," said another one. "I bet he wants his mommy right about now."

"Hey, hey, hey. Guys, break it up," a third one came from the back and pushed the others aside. "Come on, break it up. Look at him: he's scared. We don't really want to scare him, do we?" I smiled. Maybe this boy was one I could become friends with. "After all, we don't want him to start crying pathetically for his mommy, do we?" My smile faded. _No_ , I thought. _Please, no…_ I felt tears well in the back of my eyes. I wanted to hold them back, but I couldn't. I so far had never felt so embarrassed in my life!

"Aww, look at him now: He's crying!" one of them said mockingly. "Well, I'm not surprised. He is just a pathetic little loser, after all!" And then, before I could say anything, he picked me up by my shirt and started punching me in the face, giving me a black eye and a bloody nose. After what felt like hours of torment, he dropped my shirt, and I fell abruptly to the floor, watching them slink away as I wiped the blood off my nose with my sleeve. Why couldn't I have just stayed at the hospital?

2.

I somehow managed to live with all of this for two years, and I could never decide who was worse- the kids or the matron. Fortunately, though, I was able to make several friends both at school, and around the neighborhood. School, though, was my actual home. Things were completely different there, and I quickly developed and insatiable quench for knowing more. Not in learning so much as it was just in general. I liked reading mystery books and could never stop reading the newspaper every morning. Oh, I loved reading the stories they posted on a regular basis. You couldn't _pay_ to stop reading _The Daily Reporter_. I played in the park for hours after school had ended for the day, pretending to be a brave, fearless reporter venturing all over the world to uncover the untold secrets that no one had ever had the courage to discover before. I would always play all these games with the little dog I had found behind the dump, who was eating nothing but rotten old garbage. I knew the matron would never let me keep him, so I made him a comfy little spot behind the orphanage's shed. I named him Snowy, thanks to his fur. He and I loved to play. Anytime, anyplace, anywhere, we would be there, just romping about in the grassy field that was the school's football court, being in the dry, grassy plains of Africa, or in the humid, hot jungles of Peru. We went everywhere our imaginations would take us, it being the one thing protecting us from the demons of reality. Little did we know that we would be going to those places later on…

The day I left the orphanage is a day that I still rank as one of the best days of my life. And even at the moment when I had actually ran away from it, I told myself to not look back, and I still thank God to this day for allowing me to escape.

It was a regular autumn day when Snowy was discovered by Mrs. Avarice, when she accidentally found him relaxing in the little bed I made for him out of the old jackets I got from the school's lost and found. She immediately let out an unpleasant groan at the sight of him, signifying her disgust in having an innocent dog sleeping behind the orphanage. The sound drew me to where she was standing, and when I asked her what was wrong, she only pointed at the dog and said, " _That_ is what's wrong! How dare that vile vermin stay here, out of all other places! Do you not agree?"

I wanted to tell her that it was really no big deal, but I didn't want to be smacked by her horse crop again. So I said only, "Well, what should we do with it?" I was trying to sound as casual as possible to avoid any actual harm on my dog.

"I say we throw him out and take him to the pound, where he will be properly dispose of him."

I instinctively flung my arms around him in defense. Forget the whole "stay casual" thing, this was about him getting killed!

"No! No! Not Snowy!" I cried, practically shouting at her. I could hardly believe I was capable of doing just that. Even the bullies didn't dare raise their voices at her. But she was deaf to my protests.

"Oh, so you know this dog? Well then, watch as I phone the city pound to take him away." She tried to snatch him up, but I simply picked him up in my arms and ducked and ran away, away from this building that was pathetically given the title of "home". I didn't look back; I only kept on running, not knowing, or even caring where I would be going. After what seemed like hours, I eventually bumped into a rough-looking man with a black beard and wearing a blue sweater with a small picture of an anchor embroidered on it. Now, I'm not going to lie, he did seem a bit frightening to me at the time, as I was only nine years old. But he only laughed and helped me up, saying, "What's the matter? What's got you so scared?"

I cowered in fear and gave Snowy the signal to stay put but be ready to run if we needed to.

"Who… who are you?" I managed to stutter. Betting on the assumption that there was no use in acting scared, I added with a fake confidence, "Leave me alone!"

"Oh, don't be scared, laddie," he said warmly. "I ain't gonna hurt 'ya."

I loosened my eyebrows and stared at him. What was he going to do, then? I was already praying to God that he wouldn't find out that I was running away and take me back to the orphanage. _Please,_ I thought. _Anywhere but there…_

"What's yer name, laddie?" he continued, setting me down gently.

"I'm Tintin," I said hesitantly, using the name I had given myself when I first went to school. I had chosen the name I had seen in a book I had found in the library. The character's actual name was Totor, but I changed some of the letters to turn it into a name I could use that would be relatively similar to the one in that book. Totor, a heroic male protagonist who traveled across the city to solve mysteries and to help those who needed it, one who put others before himself. However, I felt rather foolish at that moment for trying to relate myself to such a hero.

"What are you doin' here?" he asked. At this point, I figured "why not?" I don't have anything to lose anymore.

"I'm running away," I said simply.

"Running away?" he echoed. "Away from what?" I simply pointed to the woman running in my direction.

"Who's that? Do you know her?"  
"Unfortunately. She's the matron at the orphanage I was raised in."

"Any relatives I can take you to?"  
"None that I know of."

At that moment, Mrs. Avarice caught up to me and the black- bearded stranger, pretending to pant heavily.

"Oh, my luv," she said with a fake smile, "What are you doing out here? You scared me half to death! Don't do that. I was so worried about you!"

Though I barely knew that black-haired stranger I was with, I quickly hid behind his leg, knowing that I'd have a better chance of escaping while talking with him.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" She said, her eyes narrowing on me.

"Why does it matter to you, you troglodyte?" he said defensively. "According to this young lad, you've been giving him nothin' but trouble. I bet you don't even know his name!"

"I own that child legally, and you and I both know that I could take you down to the police station right now and they would arrest you for abduction."

"Thundering typhoons, I didn't steal him; he ran away. I wouldn't dare stoop down to your level."

" _My_ level?" She retorted. "That little twerp belongs to me, and I have the papers to prove it-"

The man flicked his wrist in impatience. "Oh, papers, schmapers! That's not the point."

"You don't actually mean to say that you trust the words of a child rather than those of the woman who raised him as though he was her own?"

"Please, stop!" I said finally.

I turned to Mrs. Avarice. "I'm the one who caused all this to happen, so I think I should be the one to decide what should happen."

Silence.

I turned to the man. "Mister," I said slowly, "Will you help me? At least take me to a different orphanage?" He smiled and lifted me up onto his shoulders.

"Come on, boy," he said. "I'll take ya home with me, at least for now…"

He owned a house on the land, but spent most of his time at sea, sailing across the ocean to trade and fish. I, like him, quickly took a liking to all this and it was here where I learned the Morse code, how to find my sea legs and how to fly a seaplane. Though I wasn't his actual son, he treated me like I was. And likewise, I liked to think of him as my father, but I never stopped wondering where my real one was.

When I wasn't helping Uncle Haddock with his work (I called him 'Uncle Haddock', even though he was 'Captain Haddock' or 'Archibald' to everyone on board), I was at every hospital in Brussels in an attempt to locate my parents. I searched high and low, day and night, but always to no avail. Then a crazy thought entered my mind: what if he knew something? What if there was another reason why he essentially adopted me other than to be nice? Was it some last request made by my mother or father for him to become my godfather if all else failed? Once I thought about it, I just couldn't get it out of my mind. Which is why I asked him this very question one fateful day. He simply stood there for the longest time puffing away at his pipe, until he finally sighed and said, "Yes. Yes, I do, lad."

I was aghast. "Really? What do you mean? What do you know?"

"I used to know your parents, boy."  
"Tell me the story! Please! I have to know!"

"I suppose you do. Fine, take a seat and I'll tell you all that I know…"

3.

A young woman lay shivering in the snow, wrapping her thin shawl around the tiny infant she held in her arms as he lay crying out and telling his mother that he was freezing in the only way he could.

"I know, sweetheart," she said. "I'm sorry, but it's all we have, it's the best I can do." She cupped her hands in front of her mouth and tried to warm herself with her own breath, which was prominent in the brisk winter air.

As she lay shuddering in the dark, littered alleyway in the back of a run-down street, she heard footsteps coming in her direction, and her eyes instantly snapped open. She tried to look around to see who or what it was when, too late, she quickly discovered a tall, bruiting man standing before her and giving a very intimidating figure.

"W-what-wha-what do you want?" she stammered. "I'm doing the best I can, honest! There's only so much money I can give you. My job doesn't provide me with much, you know."

"It's time to stop running, Amelie," the man said. "You've gone far enough. Now just give me the money, and we'll call it off."

"But I don't have it!"

"Then perhaps we can settle this by using a different form of negotiation."

"But I haven't anything to give you."

The man held out his hand, as if expecting her to give something to him as a gift.

Realizing what he had in mind, the woman held her precious child close and threatened him not to come near her.

"Just hand him over, Amelie, and it'll be all over. No more black mailings, no more nights of hunger, all gone."

Quickly making the decision, the woman leapt up and ran from her hiding place as fast as she could, not caring where she would go. She had to keep her son safe at all costs. She had to!

The man growled loudly and ran after her at breakneck speed, and was quickly catching up to her. She was now panting harshly, and her throat was beginning to hurt.

She at last reached the edge of a canyon, where she just barely managed to stop herself from falling over the edge of the cliff.

"Where are you trying to go?" the man said, trying to beckon her over with his hand. "Just give me the kid and it'll all end."

She thought for a moment before declaring, "No! I don't care what you want, I'm not letting you take him away from me!" The woman wept into a fresh spout of tears, causing the dust on her face to turn back into dirt once again.

"Listen to me: I-"

"No!"

"Amelie!" He lunged at her, tossing her aside as he yanked the wailing, terrified infant out of her arms and into his hairy, massive hands. Amelie slipped, the roughness of the cliff being the only thing preventing her from falling off.

"Please! Don't!" She cried. "I'll give you more money, I promise!"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, my dear." Before either one of them could make another move, the woman lost her grip from the sweat that was rapidly forming on her palms out of her fear and desperation. Her already shaking arms released themselves and she fell down into the black abyss.

"TINNNYYYYYYY!..." her echoed shouts soon became muffled by the chasm, and in a matter of seconds, there was no longer any noise near the edge of the canyon. The man simply scooped the baby up into his arms and slinked away…

"So, then what happened?" I asked, waiting anxiously for the next part. I was hoping he wasn't stopping here. _Not a cliffhanger,_ I begged in my head. _I hate cliffhangers!_ But fortunately, Uncle Haddock sighed and said, "Well, I, er, uh, this man, took care of the child for a bit, and the lad soon took a liking to him, and vice versa. But it didn't last as long as he hoped it would."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, lad."

"Why not? If you don't know, you can just say so. I won't mind."

"It's not that, it's just that…" he looked up at the ceiling, trying to gently formulate his words into a single sentence. "It's just that you're not ready to hear the rest of it."

"Why not? Is it something I wouldn't understand, or because I'm 'too young', as all your cabin mates say when they stagger off to the bar after work?"

He gave a rapid nod, as if saying, "yeah, sure, let's go with that."

I sighed in frustration, my breath blowing short wisps of hair out of my eyes.

He ruffled my hair and said, "Don't worry: I'll tell you sometime, but just not now."

I made an appoint to relentlessly request the rest of his story the next following days, lasting up to about two weeks. How he was ever able to put up with me during all that time is beyond me to this day. Little did I know that I would, indeed, be unprepared for the answer.

I found the book hidden away within the bottom drawer of Uncle Haddock's bureau, shrouded by spare change and old, broken bits of different tools used for navigating the seas. Even at home, he always liked to meddle with the assortment of compasses and telescopes he no longer used but still held on to just as mementos. I covered my hands with my sleeves and made sure to not wake him up, as it was only the crack of dawn and he was still in bed. I had a habit of waking up when the sun did, mostly because I was a morning person and didn't generally need a cup of coffee to rise each morning. I held my breath as I carefully grabbed the book from its hiding place and slowly closed the drawer. Proud of myself, I smiled as I exited the room and eagerly carried it up to mine. It was very old and covered in thick layers of dust, as though it hadn't been opened in years. I coughed from the dust trying to climb inside my nose and mouth, and had to wave my hand to stop it from blinding me. Curious, I peeked inside and began reading the first page. At first, I wasn't really sure about exactly what this book was. I'd borrowed books from Haddock's shelves all the time, but the dust on this book's cover made it impossible to tell what it was. But then I realized it was a journal. I read the date: November 8th, 1905 was the date of the first entry. Seeing no harm in it, I started reading…

November 8th, 1909:

I was strolling down Main Street when I caught sight of a woman walking about, staggering through the streets and wearing a dress that was almost entirely made of rags. She was poor, obviously, and I was about to continue on and not be bothered, but the sight of her knocking on the doors of the poor neighborhood that was located directly behind the ones of high class made my heart sink. She was holding out her hand as she talked to a random chap, and I suddenly felt angry at him at turning up his nose at her. So after he slammed the door, I approached her.

"Hello," I said. "Are you all right?" I knew she wasn't, but I needed a place to start.

"Hello there," she replied. "Yes, yes, I'm quite all right." She gave a harsh, haggard cough with every other word she spoke, and I was hit with another wave of pity.

"You sure don't look like you are. What are you doing?"

"I haven't eaten in a week, and I'm just trying to earn some just so I can buy a scrap of something."

"Haven't you a job?"

"Not really. I'm ashamed of it, but lately I've been trying to earn a franc or two by…"

She quickly said the following sentence she spoke.

"By, (ahem) doing whoever is willing."

I frowned. What had caused this woman to go to such levels, to have to sleep around with whichever man who was pathetic to smirk at this shivering victim's plea?

"Well maybe I could help you in some way."

"What would you say to a kind of deal where I give you a flat, and in return, you pay me your wages?"

Her muscles relaxed themselves. "I suppose. I'm not picky, but just know that there is a line, okay? I don't want to have to sleep with someone who must be exceedingly older than myself."

I forced a smile and said, "No, don't worry: that's not what I meant. I meant maybe you and I could make a deal."

"And what deal would that be, Monsieur?"

"What would you say to an offer where I give you a job and you give your wages to me, and in exchange, I give you room and board?"

"Well," The woman answered. "I suppose… Yes! Yes, thank you Monsieur! I shall be a good worker and I will get you plenty of money!" And with that, she stood up and quickly gave me a small peck on the cheek. I suddenly was filled with a warm feeling. I wasn't feeling attached to this young woman, but I now felt proud of knowing that I was doing the right thing in being selfless to someone I didn't know. So I took her arm and led her back to my apartment, which was located only a few blocks away from where we were. _Yes,_ I thought. _I am a very good person._

I skimmed through a lot of the following entries, knowing that most of them would most likely filler for what had happened in between. Several pages later, I found one that seemed particularly interesting to me.

April 15th, 1915

Today is a day that is filled with unexpected surprises, and it is hard to decipher if they are good or not. Because just this afternoon, I discovered that Amelie was pregnant with the child of her and another stranger of which I never got to meet.

"I can certainly understand you shock, Archibald," She told me. "But to be honest, I quite like the idea of me becoming a mother, even though I didn't know about my pregnancy until several weeks ago (Apparently she had known about this for a time, but was too scared to tell me until now).

"Who is the father?" I asked. She frowned and looked down at her feet.

"I know his name; Charles Gunthers, but unfortunately, I cannot tell you where he is."

"Why not?" No answer. I tried again, more delicately. "Amilie, do you know where he is? I am not mad at you. I just would like to know who the father is."

She gave a small shrug.

My jaw dropped. "Billions of blue blistering barnacles, you don't know! What on Earth happened?"

"I was with him a few weeks ago, several days before I found out. Last I saw of him was when we were on his bed, just finished making love. And when I woke the next morning, he was gone. Disappeared. Surely you cannot be cross at me for not expecting any of this, much less wanting it to occur. You can forgive me, can't you?"

"Amilie, like I said: I'm not mad at you, and I fully understand your reluctance in telling me. But I wish you told me sooner. So, what will you do now?"

"I guess I'll let the baby develop and care for it once I give birth. I am its mother, after all."

I nodded. It was difficult to be angry with her. She was one of those people who you couldn't help but love, and was hard to be cross with, even when you had every right to be. I sighed and simply told her to continue with the way her life had been all this time, her working for me and all. I gave her precautions with the jobs she performed, and gave her extra days off on the days she was greatly fatigued as a result of the baby's influence.

January 10th, 1908

But after a while, my compassion evaporated and was replaced with greed. I soon wanted more money from her, even when it meant she had to do many extra hours. I was obsessed with money soon, never giving her any slack anymore, not even on the day of the child's birth. A girl at the textile factory she worked at had to carry her to the hospital a mere hour before the delivery was expected. When the girls told the carriage driver they didn't have the proper sum of money he desired, he turned up his nose at them and carried on. Three carriages later, they finally came across one who was kind enough to make a trip without pay. They begged, pleaded for my help, since I was her boss. But I refused as cold- heartedly as the other drivers had, and they continued on, glaring at me as they left. Looking back, it shames me that I was selfish enough to refuse to assist a helpless woman who to soon go into labor. The thought of it even today fills me with great regret and it laughs at me whenever I reminisce into my past. It is like a nightmare that I can't shake away. Will I ever be able to fully delete it from my memory?

I wasn't there when she arrived at the hospital; I no longer cared about her. If the thought of regret crossed my mind, I would always push it back and tell myself, "If she didn't want this to happen, she shouldn't have slept with that man all those months ago." How petty I was!

When she came back to my apartment with the newborn son, she tried to convince me to allow the child to stay with her in my flat (The room and board I gave her was her staying in my apartment and sleeping in the spare guest bedroom), but once again, I promptly refused. I forbade her to do it. "Not in my house!" I yelled. "You want to hold onto the kid? Fine! But go live somewhere else with it, because I will not let it stay here!"

Tears filled her eyes as she wept, "You've changed, Archibald. I don't know why you did it, but you chose money over not me, but someone who is in need. You are throwing a helpless child out into the cod, cold world. A CHILD! Throwing me out is one thing, but when you choose not to show any mercy toward someone who literally can't help him or herself, it's then when you have given up your soul to The Devil. And you donated yours a long time ago. So, very well, I'll leave. But I hope you are satisfied with the lifestyle you've chosen, because you deserve it."

January 31st, 1908

I saw her out of the corner of my eye as I walked about the neighborhood. She lay shivering in the snow, as the tiny infant lay cradled in his mother's arms cried, trying to tell her he was freezing in the only way he could.

His mother softly shushed him and said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. But it's all we have, it's the best I can do." She cupped her hands close to mouth and tried to warm herself up with her own breath, which was prominent in the brisk winter air.

I slowly approached her in that edge of that dark, littered alleyway and she looked up at me, her eyes filled with pure terror.

"W-what-wha-what do you want?" She stammered. "I'm doing the best I can, honest! There's only so much I can give you. My job doesn't provide me with much, you know."

"It's time to stop running, Amelie," I said. "You've gone far enough. Now just give me the money and we'll call it off."

"But I don't have it!"

"Then perhaps we can settle with different form of negotiation."

"But I haven't anything to give you."

She had a point. She never broke her deal with me, so she still had to give me something in return. But what? Then I remembered the baby. A small smirk formed upon my face as I held out my hand, as though I was expecting a gift from her.

One look at my outstretched arm, and she knew exactly what I had in mind. She held her precious child close to her.

"No! Take one step closer and I'll call for the police!" She cried, turning him away from me.

"Just hand him over, Amelie, and it'll all be over. No more black mailings, no more nights of hunger, all gone."

Quickly making the decision, she leaped up from her hiding place and began running as fast as she could. She had to keep her son safe. She had to!

I growled loudly and chased after her at breakneck speed, and I was quickly catching up to her.

At last she reached the edge of a canyon, where she just barely managed to stop herself from hurling over the cliff.

"Where are you trying to go?" I said, trying to beckon her over with my hand.

She thought for a moment before saying, "No! I don't care what you want, you're not taking him away from me!" The woman's face was covered with tears, making the dust on her face turn back into dirt again.

"Now, just listen to me: I-"

"No!"

"Amelie!" I lunged at her, tossing her aside as I yanked the wailing infant from her arms. Amelie slipped, the roughness of the cliff being the only thing preventing her hands from falling.

"Please! Don't!" She cried. "I'll give you more money! I promise!"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, my dear."

Before either one of us could make another move, the woman lost her grip due to the sweat that was rapidly forming on her hands from fear and desperation. Her already shaking arms released themselves from the rocks and she fell down into the abyss.

"TINNNNYYY…!" Her shouts became muffled by the chasm, and in a matter of seconds, there was no noise coming from the canyon.

I felt nothing. I felt no pity or guilt or remorse. I simply scooped the baby into my arms and slinked away…

4.

I couldn't believe it. I trusted this man, and he was my mother's murderer! My eyes quickly welled up with tears as I read and re-read the passages over and over again. That couldn't be him. That _can't_ be him! I slammed the book closed and immediately broke down, hiding my face with my arms and weeping as hard as humanly possible onto the ground.

Then I stopped, and my sorrow was replaced with a stone-cold hatred. _How could he do this?_ I thought. The most complex and darkest reasons quickly began forming in my mind as I realized how much I hated him. _He brought me here to lure me in here and to kill me! Just like the way he killed my mother!_ I told myself. _That bastard needs to pay what he's done. He deliberately hid that book from me so I wouldn't know what he would be planning all along. Make me naïve and ignorant until the very last minute, when he finally decides to get rid of me in whichever way he wishes. Probably in the most slow, painful ways he can think of. Well, then it's a good thing I found that first. I'm not going to let him do what he wants! I must kill him before he kills me. If it's sick he wants, it's sick he'll get…_

Haddock awoke to a bright, cheerful blue sky that greeted him through the large window to the right of his bed. It filled him with great satisfaction as he dreamily opened his eyes. _What a nice day,_ He thought. _Another good day for fishing out at sea. Well, I had better wake the boy…_ But the minute he dared to open his eyes, he saw me right in front of him, holding a long, jagged dagger to his neck, fully ready to pierce his body in the most horrible of ways. Of course, I wouldn't have to lash his heart with it; just a simple slit on his neck would be enough. Then again, what was the point of not piercing his chest? He had no heart, anyway, after all…

He screamed loudly in terror, yelling, "What's the meaning of this, boy? What's going on?"

"I found out what you did to my mother, you son of a bitch," I retorted bitterly. "Now it's my turn to return her favor." I aimed at his heart, but he swiftly dodged my attack and leaped out of the bed, saying, "Whoa, whoa, lad! If you read my book, then surely you must know that I absolutely regret doing it! Tintin, lad, I was the one who took care of you after your mother died. I told you that!"

"Oh, why? I know _exactly_ why you brought me here, _Uncle_ Haddock: You came to finish what you started, to wait until I was old enough to realize what I horrid death you planned on giving me. Well, it is a good thing I realized it, otherwise I would have been so blind as to what you were doing until the last minute, when you're already murdering me!"

"What!" He exclaimed. "That's not true! Boy, listen to yourself! Do you really think I would do that? To you or anyone else?"

I relaxed my stance and said, "Well… no, but you did it once."

"Yes I know, and I'm sorry, I really am. But I killed your mother because of my greed, not because of some twisted bloodlust." I didn't let my eyes gaze away. "Why do you think I took you in? Because I wanted to renounce my sins. I was hoping that by taking care of her child, Amelie's death wouldn't be in vain. But I was wrong. Tinny…" I let my knife drop to the floor and my heart changed color. Instead of it being blackened with a grotesque loathing toward this man, I suddenly felt sorry for him. He only called me "Tinny" when he was genuinely worried about me.

"Every time I look at you, all I can ever think about is that night when your mother was murdered. Please, can you forgive me?"

I fell down to my knees once again and covered my face with my hands. I was so confused! I didn't know what I should be thinking. I didn't even know what was right from what was wrong anymore. Do I forgive him? Do I kill him? Or should I turn him into the police and let them do the dirty work for me? Half of me was telling me to let it go, while the other half was screaming at me to let this man pay for what he had done.

"It's no coincidence that you gave yourself the name 'Tintin'- that was the name your mother had given you." He continued. "And also, you were wondering how you ended up in the hospital? For seven years, you were living with me. Until one fateful day, when you were about seven years old, I was taking you to the market when several thugs showed up and asked us to turn out our pockets and give them whatever we had in our possession. I told them to put down their guns, the ones they had aimed directly in front of our noses, but they ignored me. They turned to you and, once again, commanded that you give them what you had with you. You reached into your back pocket and gave them the little bit of money you had. They didn't believe that was all you had, so they asked you again. You told them that that was all, and in response, they shot a nearby wall to emphasize their 'ultimatum'. And you…"

"I what, Captain?" I said. "What then?"

"Well, then," he continued, looking very distraught. "You yanked one of their pistols out of their hands and, well, shot them."

"I what?" I exclaimed in shock. "I what?"

"Two out of the three of them, to be precise. The last remaining one picked you up and placed the gun to your head, and then turned to me, saying that if I reported him to the police, he'd kill you. I was conflicted. I didn't want you to be killed, but nor could I let a convict roam free. But I told him to set you down and that I wouldn't be going to the police. The thug smirked, and did what I asked. But as soon as he did, he slammed you against the wall and punched your lights out, chuckling all the while. Afraid and aghast, I picked up the gun and shot him, as well. Right in the chest. I picked you up and was ready to race out of there, when suddenly the cops began showing up. I ran as fast as I could, for I knew that as soon as they saw me, they would know I shot them.

"We were almost home, when I suddenly tripped, with you rolling out my arms and out in front of the hospital. My mind was racing, and I couldn't decide what I should do. There was so much going on that I couldn't think. The cops were catching up to me, so I ran once again, afraid of looking back and seeing where the police were. So I raced back to the house and remained there, during all that time. I was alone there. Alone for two years, and though it doesn't sound like much, for me it was centuries. When I caught sight of you again, when you were running away from the orphanage, I was so elated, I felt like crying. You were back, and I stood up to you because I knew I couldn't let you go again. I couldn't just toss you out into the cold. I was doing it for you and for her, and she wouldn't have wanted that. Don't you see, boy? I betrayed you, but I betrayed you, and her, and even myself. I had a son then; I was a father, and I abandoned my own child! No parent should ever do that! I may not be your father, but you are definitely my son and I love you, boy!"

I stood there for the longest time, overwhelmed by forgotten memories and numb with emotion, unsure of what to say or think. I was then hit by a wave of love, pity, sorrow and anger. My cheeks went hot and I could feel salty tears rolling despondently down my face as my knees collapsed onto the floor from the immense force of emotion. He took me by his side and wrapped his arms warmly around me. But I swatted his grip away and ran out of the room, and into the backyard, where I could clear my head. But even that didn't help me. He murdered my mother, but I'm a son to him. It kept repeating itself over and over in my mind and I had no idea about which side to take.

Eventually, my animosity got the better of me and I ran out the back door and out into the world, where I could be forever free from darkness and forgotten memories and broken promises, and… Family? I asked myself. What's the use of wanting a home with no one there? No one to greet you when you come home, to comfort you when you're sad, or to help you when you need it? What do you do when you have no one to count on, and where do you go when you don't need to be anywhere?

I forced all of the foreign, unanswered questions out of my mind and journeyed on, going wherever the wind would take me. I had a whole world to see! But no one to see it with…

5.

I still remember it like it was yesterday, climbing onboard the Karaboudjan as a stowaway, being held hostage in the hold, surrounded by countless crates of champagne and crab meat that turned to be cans of opium. I needed to get out somehow. As I heard footsteps coming in my direction, I quickly fastened together two planks of wood with rope. After I took care of the guard, I aimed the wooden grappling hook at the porthole above me and, luckily, I was able to make it through. There, I was met with the captain. Which was the captain I knew! I recognized him immediately, but he didn't seem to remember me. Probably from all the Loch Lemond he'd been drinking. I wanted him to know who I was, but I wasn't just going to make a big spectacle of it; that would make me look mad. Besides, if I started prancing about, saying, "Captain, it's me. It's Tintin!" then surely Alan and his gang would locate me in a second. Instead I said rather harshly, "Ssh! Not a sound!"

"Who- who… who are you?" He replied. He didn't seem to recognize me, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Someone forced to sail in this vile tub-" I continued. But he cut me off.

"Vile tub? ...I…d-d-do you know I'm captain Haddock! And I'll have you-y-you clapped in irons!" He was drunk. That part was obvious.

"Thanks! I've just got out of them. I've spent enough time in your hold with its cargo of opium."

"O-o-opium? There's opium in my hold? M-m-mine?"

"Didn't you know?"

"Opium! But h-h-how? It's frightful. I'm an hon… an honest man, and not… but who…? It must be Allan, the f-first mate, who has… he… he's double-crossing me…"

I grabbed his arm. "Listen, you must help me," I said. "And you must promise to stop drinking. Think of your reputation, Captain! What would your old mother say if she saw you in such a state?"

"M-m-my old mother?..." He suddenly broke down and started crying, hiding his face on the tabletop. I wanted to help him, but I could also hear Allan coming this way. I wasn't getting anywhere! I climbed out the window using my "grappling hook", and I knew that as soon as I left, Allan and his men would know that I was here, and they would try to track me down like a rabbit. As soon as they began looking for me all over the ship, it wasn't until the Captain and I were already a fair distance away from them, stealing one of the lifeboats. We weren't all that far off from the ship, but luckily the huge waves were in our favor, even though it made it hard to row nonetheless.

I can't tell you all that happened afterward, simply because I don't remember everything I said, much less the conversations Haddock and I had. But I can tell you that after that encounter, and after the many adventures we had afterward, I think I can say that I forgive him. I truly forgive him.


End file.
